


Limbo

by Natalu



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Limbo, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:30:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7966150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natalu/pseuds/Natalu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When time stops how do you make it flow again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limbo

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea that didn't want to stay locked up in my head, so I wrote it down.

    I go to the kitchen to get myself something to drink. Opening the fridge I see two cherry blossom flavored ice tea cans and take one out. I open it while walking into the living room, heading towards the sofa. Positioning myself on it comfortably I take a sip. I lay down, and stare at my surroundings - at the vinyl record player, at the book on the coffee table, at the carpet; until I’m finished with the drink. I squash the empty can and put it on the coffee table by the sofa. No point in throwing it in the trash, it’s not going to be there when I enter the room again anyway.  
    It has gotten dark outside, time to switch on the lights in the house. I go around turning on every light possible. It can get scary spending an evening and night alone in such a big house as ours, although I wish I didn’t have to be here all by myself anymore. I go back to the living room, walk up to the old vinyl record player and put on one of my father’s old records on. Listening to the record I sit on the sofa again and reach to the small coffee table to grab a book that’s laying on it. The can is gone. I open the book on the page with a bookmark and try to read but I can’t focus at all. It’s doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t remember the number of times I already read this book. I can’t remember the number of times I’ve read any of the books in this house. But it’s fine. I will read them over and over, again and again. I have all the time in the world.  
    I look at the words but I don’t see them and my mind begins to wander. The dark ink blends together and I see my mother’s face in the blur. I try to remember the colour of her hair, the shape of her eyes, nose, mouth. What she looks like when she smiles, laughs. I try to remember them both- her and my father. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen them. Technically, only yesterday. But for me months passed. Maybe years. After a certain point I gave up on keeping up with the date. In the beginning I tried writing it down before going to sleep but the words and numbers disappeared from the pages of my journal when I woke up in the morning. Then I tried memorizing it. But one day I couldn’t remember anymore. Was it still July? Or was it August? What number was I supposed to remember?  
    I get distracted when my eye captures something in the dark corner of the room and I glance up. Even with all those lights on now and then in the corner of my eye I seems to register some dark shadow fly through the room. I can’t help but look up every few minutes to check the surroundings. It’s nothing. It’s always nothing.  
    I put the book down on the sofa and go up to the front doors. My arm moves and I reach for the handle before my hand stops it on its tracks and my fingers freeze a few millimeters from its polished surface and refuse to move any further. There was a time when I thought that if I tried every day my fingers would finally close around it. It was a long time ago and all I feel now is a familiar dispiritedness. I think about my parents again. They’ve been on my mind a lot for the past few days. Will I ever see them again? I’m slowly giving up on the idea. I’ve been waiting for them all this time. On Day One I’ve been waiting for them and fell asleep on the sofa. When I woke up the world has stopped. Maybe if I saw them again the world would start spinning again? I turn around to go back to the living room.  
    The house is quiet and dark again so I turn on the lights in the rooms I pass. The book lays on the coffee table and the record player is closed, untouched, dust piling on it. I realize that my throat is dry and I’m thirsty so I head to the kitchen. Opening the fridge I see two cherry blossom flavored ice tea cans and take one out.


End file.
